


Under Iron

by plsnskanks (orphan_account)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/plsnskanks
Summary: Conclusion of a set of three requests for Tom/Paul Tom/Pat Tom/Pat/Paul





	1. Chapter 1

They drag him in bloody and beaten to high hell. Patryk cannot believe a fucking unarmed omega could hand them their asses so thoroughly before Paul finally just slammed him over the head with the butt of his gun.

Tord laughs himself to tears when he sees the two of them, bruised and bleeding with an unconscious body hanging between them. Then he orders Tom thrown in a cell stating that he would deal with him later.

Prisons are not a nice place. They never are. But Tord does have some semblance of heart, because his aren’t too bad. They’re sparse sure, but that’s for the prisoners’ and guards’ sake. The cell they put Tom in has a toilet, a bed with sheets and nothing else. But it’s clean, it has some natural light and it has good ventilation.

They have clear instructions. Tom gets food three times a day, suppressants twice, and not even a single paper cut is to be delivered upon him if it can be helped. He is kept in a rather empty block, it’s really just him and a couple other prisoners who have never been problematic.

That’s not to say Tom isn’t problematic. He spits on Paul through the bars and Patryk tells him to go check on the other prisoners while he deals with Tom. He honestly thinks Paul is ready to crack him over the head again as he wipes the loogey from his shirt.

Tom is better for him. Maybe it’s because he isn’t the one who gave him a splitting headache with the stock of his gun. He meekly takes his tray of food from Patryk.

“You know, if you behaved better when we initially brought you in, you wouldn’t have that ache right now,” Patryk said calmly.

“Yeah and I wouldn’t have my dignity either. No thanks,” Tom spat, looking at Patryk through narrowed eyes.

“Because you have that now at Tord’s mercy in a little cell God knows where?”

Tom merely huffs and turns his back to Patryk. Patryk shrugs and walks away, leaving him to finish. When he comes back two hours later its because Paul has called him over.

“Something up with your favorite prisoner?” Patryk questions with a smirk.

“Very funny,” Paul bites out. “He’s been sitting in that corner in a little ball for like half an hour and I honestly can’t tell whether or not he is faking.”

Patryk takes a long look at Tom, watching his chest fall up and down in rapid succession. He notices that everything on the bed, pillow, sheets, an extra change of clothes, is over in the corner with Tom.

“Hey, Paul doesn’t that look like a….” Patryk begins, and then his eyes catch on something very light on the ground. There is a small trail of what looks like some sand by the toilet. It’s definitely not sand. There’s no beach here for miles, and Tom doesn’t have anything that looks like that or can be made to look like that in his cell. Except one thing.

“Oh my god now that you mention it,” Paul covers his face with his hand in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, what are we supposed to do with him if he is in heat?”

“Should I check on him?” Patryk says, flipping through his key ring for the appropriate key.

“I say we leave the little bastard to rot, I’m sick of his shit and he did this to himself. Why the fuck would he not take his suppressants?”

Patryk shrugs, “ Your guess is honestly as good as mine. And Tord said to take care of him. You’ve seen how omegas get when they don’t get any sort of attention during heat. It’s nasty. Tord gave him to us as a responsibility and if we have to take him to the hospital because of our negligence, how do you think that reflects on us?”

Paul sighs, “Fuck you and your logic bullshit. I’m staying outside the cell. If he attacks you, he’s getting a stun baton to his crotch, heat or not.”

Patryk smiles, “Nice to know you have my back.”

With that he enters the cell. Cautiously he approaches Tom. As he gets in closer he can smell the pre-heat pheromones rolling off Tom. They aren’t anywhere near as potent as heat pheromones in full swing, but they aren’t exactly able to just be ignored either.

“Tom, why haven’t you been taking your suppressants?” Patryk asks gently.

The shaking figure doesn’t move towards him. Patryk is about to ask again when he gets a shaky response.

“Thought they were other drugs. Bad kinds,” Tom murmurs.

“No Tom, they were important ones. Tord was trying to keep you healthy.”

“Oh is that why my head feels like someone tried to smash it open?” Comes the snarling response. Small hands reach up to rub at his temples and Tom curls into a tighter ball.

“Tom. What do you expect when you claw your way through about five soldiers, despite repeated requests to turn yourself in without combat?”

“How am I supposed to know? Tord lies. He lies a lot! He lied about the robot. He lied about the army. I’m not going to take his word on the off chance I end up in front of a firing squad!” Tom exclaims, and then gasps, pressing down harder on his temples. The smell in the room gets thicker. Patryk is thankful he is an omega. Keeping things professional is hard enough as is, he doubts he would be able to control himself as a beta, let alone an alpha.

“Listen Tom, do you want someone to help you? We can get you a heat room, or I can call Tord-.”

“Oh my god. No. Don’t do that,” Tom bolts up and immediately regrets it, hunching down and giving a dry heave at the raw rush of pain. With tears in his eyes he continues, “Can you just help me? Please? I know it isn’t your job. But I can’t. Literally anyone but Tord. I think I would rip his balls off his body if he even came in this room right now.”

“Okay, but I have to run it by him first, Tom. It’s his base, he’s my superior. I’m going to go notify him of the situation and try and get clearance to get you a heat room in the med bay, okay?”

Tom hesitates and then nods minutely. He lays back down in his meager nest, once again facing the wall.

“Wow, how bad is it that he didn’t even try to land a hit?” Paul asked as Patryk, left the cell.

“Bad. He’s not even in heat yet either, it’s just prestages. I think all the additional stress has completely fucked his hormones,” Patryk says as he walks over to a nearby land line bolted to a support. He dials Tord’s personal number and the Norwegian picks up on the first ring.

“Tord, its me, Patryk. Tom didn’t take his suppressants and now he’s in heat. What course of action should we take?”

“Why didn’t he take his suppressants?” Tord’s annoyed voice sounds off through the other end.

“He thought you were drugging him.”

“With necessary medicine. That little-. Ach never mind. I can handle this,” Tord began.

“I recommend against it. He’s in quite a state already and he said he would rather not see you at the moment.”

“As if Tom would use such a polite sentence to talk about me. He probably promised to castrate me,” Tord snorted.

“I was paraphrasing,” Patryk stated, ignoring Tord’s surprisingly acute guess.

“Fine, fine, you have clearance to tend to his needs using whatever unused medical facilities we have available,” Tord said, sounding bored of the whole conversation.

“Alright, thank you.”

“One thing.”

“Yes?”

“Record whatever you do,” and with that Tord had hung up. Of course. Patryk had no idea what their clusterfuck relationship was, but he knew Tord had some deep seated feelings of lust and affection for their POW. He just rarely expressed them in normal or sane ways. Hence them literally hunting Tom down like prey. Patryk sighs. He dials the medical ward and arranges for an open room to be sectioned off for them, and then calls in backup to help Paul with his routine checks while Patryk takes care of Tom.

By the time he returns Tom is heaving into his toilet, pseudo nest cast aside. The whole scene is honestly so pathetic Patryk wants to put him back in his nest and cuddle him right there. But protocol is protocol so instead he waits for Tom to finish, steps inside and handcuffs him behind his back for his transfer.

“Really?” Tom says, with drool running down his chin. “Did you not just watch me heave for five minutes?”

“Rules are rules, and I don’t break them for omegas that can send half a squad to the med bay with their bare hands. Even if their in heat,” Patryk says as he put a hand on Tom’s back and pushed him gently along the walk. He smells horribly of sweat, vomit and heat. Maybe to an alpha all that would be attractive, but to Patryk it’s just distressing.

They get to the med bay and while Patryk is talking to the head nurse, trying to figure out their room, Tom starts to lean against the wall, eyes closed. The nurse looks at him.

“Is it just heat? He looks very unwell even if he is under a lot of stress,” she comments, sharp eyes surveying Tom.

“One of our soldiers hit him over the head with his stock.”

“Was he checked for a concussion?” The nurse asks in an annoyed tone.

Patryk sheepishly shakes his head. Fuck. Basic medical care has been neglected on all fronts by all parties, it appears.

The nurse sighs and leaves the room to come back with a small flashlight. She approaches Tom and gently pulls open an eyelid to shine the light in it. He startles at the contact, but calms as she murmurs something softly to him.

“He’s okay. I don’t recommend hitting him anymore,” the nurse says, fixing him with a stern glare. Patryk doesn’t bother mentioning he wasn’t the one to do it. He nods meekly. She continued.

“Go to the heat room, take care of him. Our rooms are fitted for overnight stays. I want him here overnight. If your ranking superior needs a written confirmation of this order I’ll give it. He needs a good night’s sleep in a low stress environment. In addition, I will have meals prepared and sent to the room. Make sure he eats all of it, along with any additional pills or vitamins.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Good, now you two are in room three. Also, get him out of those goddamn cuffs. He’s harmless. I’ll sedate him myself if he gets out of hand,” the nurse said, pointing to Tom’s bound wrists.

Patryk nodded sheepishly and uncuffed Tom’s hands. The omega barely seemed to notice, still leaning against the wall with eyes closed. He started again as Patryk tried to move him off the wall. In the short time they had been talking, Tom’s condition had gone rapidly downhill. He was barely standing on his own two feet, exhaustion and pain written plainly across his features. Patryk looped an arm under his arm and through his other arm. He began to walk supporting Tom. The nurse followed behind them.

When they arrived at the room she unlocked it and motioned for them to go inside. The door was closed gently behind them.

Inside the room was painted a calm light blue with a queen sized bed fitted with plain white sheets. At the foot of the bed was a chest and Patryk knew from experience there were a wide variety of toys in the chest as well as lube and condoms. Though from the state of Tom’s prison pants, Patryk sincerely doubted that they would be needing much lube. He helped Tom over to the bed and then onto it.

Patryk had to admit it was weird to think this same man was the one who had been blatantly trying to incapacitate him, best case scenario, just a few days ago. Now he lay panting and docile, letting out soft whines and looking in his general direction.

Patryk got onto the bed and crawled over to Tom. He was still pressing at his head in an attempt to alleviate his headache.

“Before we do anything, let’s get you some water,” Patryk said, he leaned out into the hall and asked for a bottle of water and some medicine for headaches. When he returned with both, he opened the bottle as Tom put the pills in his mouth. Tom swallowed them with a mouthful of water, then continued to press at his head.

“If you are trying to find the pressure points to help with that, stop, those aren’t it,” Patryk scolded gently. He moved Tom’s hands away himself and began to massage and press at the correct points. Tom’s shoulders slumped in relief as the cloud of pain in his head began to abate. When it seemed like he was fully comfortable, Patryk stopped, noting how Tom leaned into his touch when he moved away.

“Okay, how do you want this?” Patryk asked. He was trying to keep things professional. Treat this like an order. A command. God this was an odd position to be in. To try and keep something as innately emotional as sex mundane and business like.

“I don’t know,” came the strangled reply. Patryk sighed.

“Okay, I’m just going to do what usually feels nice for me, and if you don’t like it, or you want something else, ask for it.”

Tom nodded. Patryk started to take off his pants. Prisoners didn’t have any undergarments, so he was immediately greeted with a hard cock that he supposed Tom had tucked into his waistband. Under that was a flushed cunt leaking slick and a little pucker of an arsehole, gaping open just enough to suggest it had had some experience. Cute.

Patryk mentally slapped himself. Thoughts like those would make it hard to keep things professional.

“Okay Tom, I’m just going to go get a toy and I’ll be back,” Patryk said. He garnered no response. The chest had an assortment of toys, nothing really kinky or out of the way as far as normal sexual tastes, but enough to suit a reasonably wide amount of tastes. He pulled out a plain white vibrator. This would probably due nicely for Tom, just to bring him off enough to sate him for this heat.

Patryk returned with the toy and after a few minutes of stretching Tom’s cunt, much to Tom’s pleasure, he slipped the toy inside and turned it on. And promptly turned it off a few minutes later as Tom’s noises turned high pitched and distressed. They felt like nails on a chalkboard, making Patryk cringe as he removed the toy and went to cuddle Tom up into his chest to soothe him.

“I don’t want that,” Tom groaned into his arms. He was crossing and uncrossing his legs, squirming against the sheets.

“Okay, okay,” Patryk soothed. “What do you want?”

“I want you to touch me. No toys,” Tom whined. He spread his legs and Patryk’s mouth went dry. It had been a while since he had topped. He didn’t really have much of a taste for it, especially with long term partners. But as he saw Tom’s spread lips and his needy stare, Patryk felt a strong urge fill him. It was less of a need to fuck and more of a need to satisfy. Gently he crawled on top of Tom. He unzipped his pants and Tom helped slide them down and off. He sat up for a minute to undo his jacket and throw off his red shirt underneath. He’d have to iron all that later to get the creases out, but oh well.

He lined himself up to Tom’s wet entrance and gently pushed in. Tom let out a breathy moan of discomfort.

“Does that hurt?” Patryk asked softly, looking at the confused face below him.

“I don’t know,” Tom whimpered. “It just feels like a lot. It’s been a while.”

Ah. That might explain some more of it. Heats could be notoriously nasty when they had been denied their normal cycle. Add all that stress, physical and mental, and it was no wonder Tom was such a clusterfuck of emotions.

“Okay, well, we are going to keep going and you tell me to stop if you need to,” Patryk replied, as he gave his first long, slow thrust. God it felt good. Tom was warm, hot and tight. Every thrust was met with a moan or a whimper, a little bit of clenching. After a while Patryk noted Tom was meeting his thrusts. He stilled a little just to watch those hips continue to gyrate, little mewls of pleasure falling out Tom’s lips as he met his own needs on Patryk’s cock.

God he was cute.

Patryk continued his regular pace. He felt small hands gingerly slide along his back and looked down to see dark eyes looking up at him. That mouth was still open and noises continued to tumble out. Then a soft little “Patryk” came out. And oh, that was good. That was so, so good.

“You like this, it feel good?” Patryk murmured.

“Yeah,” Tom said breathily.

“You want me to touch your cock?”

“Yeah.” This time a bit quieter, a bit more timid, but with a gentle undercurrent of excitement. Patryk knew that feeling. Excitement at having a lover that wanted to meet his needs rather than just dominate him in bed.

“Can you ask nicely? Pretty please? Just for me?” Patryk cooed.

“Can you… uhn… Touch my cock… Patryk,” Tom managed haltingly.

Patryk gave him a pleased little kiss on the tip of his nose and moved his other hand to start stroking Tom off. His little twists and tugs were met with gasps and low lingering keens. Still Patryk kept his slow gentle pace.

Maybe it was all the stress, or the fact that it was Tom’s first heat in a while, but Patryk found his fellow omega coming surprisingly early, with a little shudder and his name on his breath. Patryk came inside him after a bit, just relaxing on top of Tom and mouthing at his neck a bit as his orgasm washed over him.

He pulled out, satisfied to see Tom’s flaccid cock and a bit of his cum leaking out of Tom’s cunt. He couldn’t help himself. Patryk pushed his tongue into Tom’s wet entrance, licking and sucking softly, not minding the taste of his own cum. Hands threaded through his hair, not pushing him away just yet, but holding him firmly. Patryk got the message. He just licked softly at the folds, avoiding some of the more sensitive areas and not pushing in too deep. He withdrew after a bit to see Tom relaxing and looking like he was quite enjoying himself.

“Did that feel good?” Patryk asked as he slid a hand up Tom’s chest.

Tom looked at him through lidded eyes, “It was really good. Easiest heat I’ve had in a while. Thank you.”

Agh. Maybe this is what Tord had fallen for. This little beast who was so sugar sweet he could melt away your hard outer shell and warm up frost bitten parts you had forgotten about. And then slip a knife between your ribs into your thawing heart.

Then convince you the whole time it had been worth it.

Patryk smiled softly and merely continued to rub along Tom’s body, listening to the soft exhalations that grew longer and deeper as he faded away into sleep. Maybe it’s just a little pang of guilt he feels knowing Tom will be back in his cell tomorrow, under Tord’s thumb.

He gets the cctv tape of their activities and sends it to Tord. Obviously the head nurse isn’t pleased at having to break patient confidentiality… but an order from up top is not one to be disobeyed. Patryk repeats this mantra in his head as he debates snapping the tape in his hands as he walks it to Tord. It makes it into the Red Leader’s hands without incident.

Patryk tries to ignore his feelings of regret as he watches the rise and fall of Tom’s side, curled up against him, leeching away warmth.

It isn’t easy.

It never is.


	2. Chapter 2

If he’s being honest, Paul doesn’t like Tom. Not because he clawed his left cheek to shreds like he was a fucking feral cat. Not because his longtime partner had to fuck him in order to save him from himself. It was because Patryk had fucked him and somehow come back looking worse than he had before he’d had an opportunity for a full night’s rest.

An opportunity that Patryk didn’t take by the looks of it. He stares off listlessly as they do their morning patrol. When they stop by Tom’s block Patryk barely glances in Tom’s direction. He basically neglects the check for the entire left side of the block.

At first, Paul thinks maybe something went wrong. He tries asking about what happened. Patryk tells him in detail leaving nothing out. He just describes everything from the nurse scolding him to handing the cctv tape over to Tord.

After the third time he has Patryk tell him the story in an attempt to understand what exactly was the issue, he starts to catch on to the weird amount of weight Patryk puts on that last part. About handing over the cctv.

“Do you feel like you violated his privacy is that it?” Paul asks. Patryk looks at him for a long minute, eyes a little less vacant, but still seeming plenty despondent. He shrugs.

“I know you want answers but I don’t even know if I have them myself. He’s… he’s just a funny one,” Patryk says, like that’s all there is to be said on the issue. Paul lets it go. He isn’t the pushy one, or the meddler, the one who nettles people to get out their innermost thoughts. That’s Patryk’s area, and he is as good at defending himself from his own tactics as he is at using them on others. If not better.

So Paul leaves Patryk to make his own decisions and sort out his own feelings. He tries to at least.

Then that stupid fucking shitstain of an omega somehow manages to dodge multiple doses of suppressants, and what the fuck do you know, the entire block smells like the inside of Tom’s cunt, thank you very much. 

Patryk says he can deal with it. Patryk says he’ll take him to the heat room. Patryk has a pained look on his face the entire time he is telling these little white lies that come back to bite him. Paul just takes the keys from his hands and goes off to deal with his least favorite inmate.

And you know, Tord has a lot of enemies, meaning there are a lot of political prisoners who hate anything to do with the Red Army. Paul has been pissed on, spit on, had what he could only hope was old food thrown at him, and once nearly got his windpipe crushed by an inmate with surprisingly long reach. 

That day Patryk showed Paul that despite what anatomy books may tell you, elbows can indeed bend that way.

Point is, he’s been through much worse and he’d still rather go through all that over again than deal with Tom at the moment. As he approaches the cell he sees the same little huddle as last time.

“Explain why I shoulder march you out into the courtyard hand have you shot for pulling this shit again,” Paul growls at the hunched shoulders. He watches them shake in what he assumes is laughter. They still before Tom responds.

“As if Tord would let me die that clean a death.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do with you?”

“Try hitting me over the head again, do it hard enough and I won’t have to deal with heats anymore,” Tom mutters as he is still huddled against the wall.

“You wouldn’t have to deal with them at all if you’d take the damn suppressants like you are supposed to. Any other inmate that pulled this shit would have to wait it out in solitary in a straightjacket. You’re deluded if you think you don’t curry favor with Tord.”

“He has some sort of fetishistic desire to see me suffer,” Tom responds and Paul can hear this little note of hysteria weaving in and out of his tone as he speaks. 

“Which is exactly why you receive three square meals a day, have warm bed to sleep, and are forced to do exactly zero labor,” Paul said, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“That’s the thing with him though, Tord will never be satisfied with just a physical victory. He already has that over me, by nature,” Tom says and Paul can hear how winded he is getting as his flow of speech breaks down into broken little chunks of diction.

At last Tom shuffles himself around so that he is sitting up and facing Paul.

“And if you are going to be another instrument of his to achieve that goal, and you think I am going to sit down and take it-“ Tom snarls looking at Paul.

“Enough,” The word is out cracking through the air and Tom flinches away from it like Paul boxed his ears as he said it. He opens the lock to the cell and steps inside, and maybe Tom can see the rage in his gait, because he scrambles back as soon as Paul takes his first heavy step towards him.

“Get up, we are going to handle this,” Paul says as he glares down at the heaving form pressed up against the far wall. When Tom doesn’t move, he closes the distance and hauls Tom to his feet. Tom manages to keep his balance, albeit on shaky legs. Paul tries to ignore the spreading wet patch across his crotch.

“I am a man trying very desperately to do his job, which, fortunately for you doesn’t usually involve homicide.”

“Where’s Patryk?” Tom doesn’t mean to whine out the name. He finds himself shoved up against the wall roughly, his head knocks against it due to whiplash. He suddenly remembers who he’s dealing with. This is the man who slammed him hard enough for him to black out, then drug his limp body over several miles back to the pickup point. He may be a beta, but it’s clear he’s got muscle, he’s got anger, and he’s more than willing to give Tom his death wish if he pushes too far.

“Patryk is none of your concern,” Paul growls and Tom can’t help the whimper that escapes him, he tries to pull his limbs into himself as an instinctual way to make himself smaller. He feels like shit, and he honestly doesn’t want another head injury to go with his heat like last time.

He finds himself turned around and forced against the wall again, and for a moment he thinks Paul might honestly just fuck him right there, but then he hears the telltale click and feels the cool metal around one wrist and then the other. He is then turned back around and shoved in front of Paul. He nearly stumbles and falls but catches himself at the last moment. Firm hands grab him by the back of his arms and start steering him forward. 

As they pass by Patryk, Paul merely says, “Call Tord and let him know Tom pulled the same shit again and I’ll handle it.”

“Don’t you think you should get the okay first?” Patryk asks, avoiding eye contact with Tom.

“He can demote me later,” Paul calls as he passes. They walk in silence for a while and no words are exchanged as they pass through the security checkpoint exiting the prison sector. Tom’s stride merely grows shorter as he has to stoop over and lean against a wall after every couple minutes of walking.

It reminds him of Patryk when they were first struggling to deal with this heats. Paul hates it. He doesn’t want Tom to benefit off of any empathy he feels for him just because his biology is the same as his lovers. So he roughly forces him off the wall and ignores the small moan of discomfort and the resulting pang of guilt in his stomach.

They make it to the medbay and as Paul is filling out the form for a room a nurse comes in and takes it from him as he finishes. She looks it over and then tucks it under his arm.

“Well, he looks better than last time, so good job at that,” she says as she unlocks the door to their room and opens it for them. Tom shuffles in.

“You want me to break his right to privacy again?” the nurse asks and the look she gives Paul is absolutely scathing.

“I’m sorry, what?” Paul asks.

“Are you going to need another cctv tape of your activities?”

Oh. That. The thought of doing that kind of makes him feel nauseous. Paul looks at the nurse for a long minute. Even if he dislikes Tom, this sort of thing….

The nurse seems to catch on to his hesitation, “Because unfortunately, the cctv in that room is broken and all our other rooms are full, my apologies.”

Paul gives her a slight nod, a minute signal of thanks. He enters the room to find Tom struggling to pull his pants off with his hands cuffed behind his back. It’s hilarious actually, he’s trying to sideways hump the bed in an effort to shimmy down his pants. 

Paul sighs and walks over. He shoves Tom headfirst into the sheets holds him their while he pulls out a key to unlock his cuffs. In the meantime, Tom is trying to back himself up into Paul to get some sort of friction. Paul uncuffs him and delivers a harsh slap to his ass.

“Stay still,” he rumbles. If possible, the stench of heat in the room gets even worse. By some act of divine grace, Tom actually listens as Paul manages to strip him of his prison garb. Once he is one he pushes Tom father up the bed so he is close to the headboard which has a long metal pole running across it. He picks up the handcuffs and puts them on again, threading them through the pole and reattaching it to the other hand.

Tom looks at him dazed and then becomes frustrated when he realizes he has once again lost the use of his hands. He starts trying to pull at the cuffs, jingling them in an angry cacophony as he glares at Paul. Paul sits back and watches in amusement for a bit, letting Tom tire himself out. When he eventually does, slumping back petulantly, Paul speaks.

“You done?” 

It earns him a glare with no real heat behind it. 

“I could just call Tord in here and let him deal with you, you know,” Paul says. It’s a joke. That’s what he intended it to be. He instantly regrets telling it as Tom’s entire body stiffens and he goes pallid. It’s a pretty ghastly look for someone who is supposed to be in heat. Tom seems to recover a bit after a second.

“If he even tries I swear when I get out of these-,” Paul can see the giant workup coming and he knows if he wants Tom to behave like anything even approaching reasonable, he is going to have to level with him a bit.

“It was a joke. I wouldn’t do that, and despite what you think you know about Tord, he wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

“Oh, so the mass murdering communist leader has a code of ethics? Don’t they all,” Tom bites out. There is a trickle of sweat working its way down the side of his face and Paul realizes it must be an enormous burden to be staying this coherent in the throes of heat. Well it’s a burden Tom heaped on himself, so maybe he should let him suffer a little. Someone is going to get hurt if Paul does nothing to stamp out this little cycle of disobedience. God knows that Patryk won’t be the one to do it. Doting on the shit like he’s just misunderstood.

The only commonly misunderstood thing about Tom is how willing he is to tear someone else to shreds to serve his own ends. Paul can feel his agitation building again. Here is the little monster who is going to get Patryk killed if he lets Tom wrap him around his finger any tighter.

He puts his hand around Tom’s throat, pinning him back against the headboard. 

“You want me to help you? I want a promise you’re going to take your medicines regularly again,” Paul says. Tom mashes his mouth shut like he’s a toddler and doesn’t say a word.

Fine. Paul trains soldiers. These cocky little shits that come straight out from under their mother’s skirt and into the Red Army thinking they know shit about how the world works when they don’t. He’s good at figuring out how to crack people, and he’s got quite a few ideas on how to work at Tom. He already knows that negative reinforcement doesn’t work. At least, not when pure pain is the punishment. If anything, Tom seems to enjoy being a martyr.

Paul pinches a nipple with one hand and gets a breathy little gasp and watches as a bit of slick leaks out from Tom. That angry little pout is gone as soon as he thinks he is getting what he wants. He rolls it and tweaks it and then moves a hand to play with the other one. Gradually the moans get louder and Tom’s movements get more frequent as all parts of him seem to twitch intermittently under Paul’s hands.

His cunt is a mess as well, flushed and leaking as his dick stands proud above it. It’s practically begging for some attention, so Paul decides to give it some. He spreads Tom’s lips and rubs along the inside of either one for a bit before putting the heel of his hand up against his opening and grinding it down, gently of course, just rubbing his entrance in a way that gives him blissful friction with no penetration. He trails his other hand down and trails it around Tom’s asshole, poking just slightly into the divot but not enough to slip a finger inside.

Tom meanwhile is moving in a way that desperately indicates he wants something inside him. He’s at the end of his leash as far as his handcuffs will let him move, so there is no way he can get Paul to do what he wants.

“Just, fuck, c’mon already,” Tom grits out, as he again attempts to grind down on Paul’s hands.

Paul moves the hand currently not toying with Tom’s cunt, and grabs him by the chin, pressing his hand harder against Tom’s pussy and moving it a bit faster. It has a noticeable effect on Tom as some of his eyes him a little and his panting gets heavier.

“I told you, if you want that, I want my promise,” Paul said, softly this time. Calmly. Maybe if he stopped showing his anger to Tom like a giant weak point, he could get him to do as he wished.

Tom is still silent so Paul just continues to rub at him, taking his other hand off his chin to tease at the head of Tom’s cock, trailing it around the head and then the underside. He watches Tom’s face scrunch up in annoyance and then frustration. 

His toes are curling and uncurling and Paul can guess by the outpouring of slick that comes in waves and the muted winces on Tom’s face, that he is feeling the cramps and flashes of heat that come along with his cycle. He goes down to finger at the rim of Tom’s ass again and that’s when he breaks, his expression crumples into that of resignation.

“I promise, ha-ah, just please actually do something,” Tom pants out.

“Promise what, precisely?”

“I’ll take my medicine. In front of you. Everyday. Just please,” Tom stops to heave little between each sentence. He seems to have let go of all his composure at once and Paul can actually see the pain written across every element of his body posture. It reminds him of how Patryk used to be during his heats before they got the hang of things.

He feels guilty now. Like he just tortured Tom, using his biology to get what he wanted, which essentially he did.

But if you give them an inch, they take a mile.

“Fine, that is satisfactory.” Paul leaves the bed and goes into the toy chest to retrieve a small vibrator. Tom’s eyes immediately lock on it and he scowls.

“I don’t want that.”

“You just had your first unsuppressed heat a while ago, while that one was more severe in terms of cramps, it was relatively easy to handle considering Patryk only needed to bring you off once. This one will probably not be as easy, and since you refuse to let Tord help you, you are going to have to do with me, and we are going to do it my way,” Paul said as he lubed up the toy. He looked up at Tom when he was done.

His eyes were closed tightly as he endured another series of cramps. He was drawing in on himself, crossing his legs. His tense composure wasn’t going to make things any easier.

Paul spread his legs apart, ignoring the whine of protest. He pushed the toy into Tom’s ass and nudged it around until he had it seated right where he wanted it. He switched it on and pulled back to watch Tom for a moment. The omega squirmed as the toy in him buzzed away, but seemed a little less tense.

Paul took the interlude to coat his dick in lube and then he lined himself up with Tom’s entrance. Tom barely seemed to notice until he actually pushed in, too caught up with the sensations coming from his back end. 

Paul starts and he keeps going at a hard and heavy pace. Tom just continues to squirm under him, now getting bombarded by sensations from two areas. Paul grips him tightly around the shoulders to still him and picks up his pace. He pushes one of Tom’s legs up to get a better angle. The stretch and the sensation feel good to Tom as he just lets the beta above him do as he pleases.

He seems to know what he is doing and has an air of confidence about it, so Tom is content to let him go and just lie back and reap the rewards. Eventually, the toy in is back end really starts to get to him. He feels like it is much larger than what Paul actually put in him, and it feels like it is buzzing through all of his lower regions.

Combined with Paul pistoning in and out of him like he is a machine and that what he was built to do, and Tom suddenly finds himself a lot closer to orgasm a lot earlier than he expected. He looks up at Paul startled and confused as his orgasm overtakes him. Paul merely looks down calmly. He pushes in and out a few more times and then cums inside of Tom as he is still trying to sort himself out.

Soft noises that disguise themselves as questions are coming out of his mouth as he tries to catch himself up to speed with what is happening. It’s cute. It rubs him the wrong way to even admit it to himself, but Tom is cute, with his eyes slightly crossed and those soft noises coming out in a pitch Paul had never heard the man speak in.

God, maybe he is just a natural born sucker.

“Shh, okay, its fine, they can be a little intense like this,” He hears the calm voice distantly as Paul pulls out and then shuts off the toy.

Arms are around him pulling him up to a broad chest in what he thinks is a hug. Then his hands suddenly loosen and fall down in front of him, and Tom remembers he has been tied up for the duration of this session. Big hands rub at his wrists, which have little pink rings on either side and are a little achy. Tom’s head is drooping forward, so Paul leans him back into the sheets.

He’s out. Almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. It is actually impressive. Almost concerning. Paul watches Tom sleep. He remembers that Tom is younger than him and Pat by a few years. He really doesn’t look so fierce now, resting against the sheets, contented, and dreaming.

He just looks kind of small. Kind of lost. Kind of like one of the recruits that Paul gets sometimes. The ones that come knowing the world is a bit fucked up. The ones that want to do something about it. With their hard glares and their hunched shoulders, mouths drawn in thin lines. Those are the ones that eat him alive when they don’t come back from the front lines.

Tom keeps his promise. He swallows the pill. He looks at Paul for a long bit each time as he finishes. Something about his stare has been giving him the heebies lately. There’s some sort of presence to it, some sort of depth that wasn’t there before. It’s not just anger, or spite, Tom looks a little more awake in a whole slew of senses.

Paul tries not to let it keep him up at night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion of a set of three requests for Tom/Paul Tom/Pat Tom/Pat/Paul

Paul is making his rounds when he notices Tom huddled against the side of the wall again. Instantly he knows, its right about that time of month again.  
He hates the fact he knows what Tom’s cycle is.

Paul looks around for Pat, then thinks better of it. He’ll just drag Tom to solitary and be done with it.

“Alright Tom, I’ve had it with your bullshit,” Paul calls as he unlocks the door. He takes a step inside towards the huddle of blankets. Tom is curled up so tightly he can’t even see him just a lump of sheets.

Paul swallows. He is never going to not feel guilty about this kind of thing and he hates himself for it. Born a grade A sucker, die a grade A sucker. Thank god he’s got Pat-

Paul’s thoughts derail as he feels something come around his neck and pull. Pull so hard he can’t breathe. There’s no thoughts in his head and no air in his lungs as Paul starts to panic. He was trained better than this, he knows how to handle this. Paul slams his head back only to find nothing to hit and feel the grip around his throat tighten.

This is how he dies.

Trying to help a shitty omega deal with his shitty heat in a shitty base where he and Patryk were just trying to make a shitty world a little less shit. Paul thinks about what Pat’s face at his funeral is going to look like and his heart breaks in two as his consciousness passes into darkness.

Tom lets Paul slump down, breathing hard as he looks at the man on the ground. He hadn’t expected it to be this difficult. Mentally or physically. He hates to say he feels guilty, after all this is the man who hit him with the butt of his gun, made him grovel at his feet to fuck him. But he kinda does. Kind of.

Tom grabs the keys off Paul’s waist and starts off at a dead run. As he is running down the hall he is looking in the cells looking for that one familiar face. Ah.  
“How the hell did you get out,” Laurel whispers as Tom draws near her cell. 

“Look, that’s not important, what is important is that I am going to let you out and I need you to go and release everyone else to create a diversion. I am going to escape, get Edd and we are going to knock down this shitty base and set everyone free,” Tom said unlocking her cell and opening the door.

He hands her the keys.

“Go ahead and get going, I’m counting on you man,” Laurel said, giving Tom a small smile.

Tom grins a little, “Don’t worry, we can get these guys back double time.” With that he is turning on his heel and heading off down the corridor at a dead run.

__________

“Of one hundred and ninety prisoners released, one hundred sixty eight were recovered, which I must commend our excellent staff for. However that still leaves roughly twenty two heads unaccounted for. After reviewing surveillance footage that number has dropped to seven. After analyzing finger prints on the sewage outlet pipes that number has dropped to two.”

Tord is pacing back in forth in front of a very full, very tense table of his officers, all sweating bullets while wondering who is going to get the bullet. The entire base is being hit with a massive heatwave, but the atmosphere in the room is subzero.

“Laurel and Tom, both having close ties with the Green Revolution, and both being high priority POW’s who now may have access to classified data. So gentlemen I guess what I am going on and on about, what I am leading up to,” Tord stops pacing to stand in front of his two second in command, looking down at the two as Paul struggles to pull in a raspy nervous breath and shuffle back in his seat, away from Tord. Under the table Patryk puts a hand on his partner’s leg as he glares angrily down at the hardwood table. Paul's throat is covered with a nasty bruise and even though he can speak, he refrains from doing so often to stave off the pain.

“Is to ask how you managed to fuck up this bad, and what exactly you plan to do about it,” Tord asks, leaning down to get in Paul’s face. Paul lets out a choked noise and after a few uncomfortable seconds of struggling to vocalize words he physically finds a chore, Patryk sucks in a loud inhale and turns to glare fiercely at Tord, eyes hard, cool, and flat discs that cut through the icy atmosphere of the room like butter.

“Give us seventy two hours to locate the prisoners in the base and if we cannot we will embark on a full scale scrub of our territory,” Patryk says, looking at Tord dead on.

“And if you can’t find him after that?”

“I accept full culpability for the failure to secure the prison check yesterday, it is against protocol for patrolling officers to enter a cell alone and I,” Patryk winces as he feels Paul start to claw his leg under the table, frantically digging his nails into his leg as he tries to shake his head minutely, “was not available for my Patrol Partner in what he believed to be a medical emergency for a high priority POW. As such I am fully responsible for this incident and will wholeheartedly receive whatever punishment you see fit.”

Patryk pointedly ignores looking at Paul and instead continues to look at Tord.

“Very well Officer Patryk, I trust your account and I very dearly hope it does not come to a punishment. You have one hundred sixty eight hours from this very moment to locate Tom and Laurel, after that point I will assume they have both left the territory and they will be counted as a major intelligence loss facilitated by you. That’s two charges of high treason,” Tord said. The rest went unsaid. Death by firing squad or hanging, your choice.

Patryk nodded.

________________  
“I know you are angry,” Patryk soothed.

“You… can’t,” Paul wheezed. 

“I have to, you can help me, and like I was going to let you take the fall for that little….” Patryk’s fists clench and unclench. “Look Paul, I love you, and I want to make it out okay just as much as I know you want me to. So don’t fight me about something that’s already settled, help me find Tom and Laurel.”

They are patrolling the prison block again, interrogating prisoners, looking for any signs of either escapee, when the base cooling system kicks in.

“Pat… heat?” Paul asks pointing at him.

“No?” Patryk sniffs the air. Shit. It does smell like someone is in heat. “Alright, who didn’t take their suppressants,” Patryk calls. Dead silence is the response. Of course no one wants to own up to it. Punishment is a week in solitary. It’s what they should have been doing with Tom in the first place. Actually they should have just thrown him to Tord.

They check the block one by one. No dice. Everyone is looking well, way too well to be giving off the kind off stench now pervading the cell block. The block gets looped three times, before Paul and Patryk move on to scouring the rest of the base for signs of the POW’s. The stench has dissipated by the time they come back after nightfall.

The next day they are making the rounds again. Again the stench starts up.

“What the heck, where is this coming from,” Patryk groans. The stench is horrible, and it’s riling up the prisoners. They need to find it before they get a prison riot. They already saw their share of prisoners masturbating yesterday while they were looking for the source. Two cellmates are in solitary for doing a little more than that.

They are about to give up when Patryk hears a minute noise, almost like whimper, followed by a whispered plea as they are passing by the maintenance room. Patryk is about to go search it when Paul stops him.

“Ent,” He says, pointing down. Patryk follows his finger and sees the vent grate. Suddenly it clicks. Why the stench has been disappearing and appearing only when the air conditioning is on. How it seems to be coming from everywhere in the prison sector.

He has a phillips in hand and the grate off in under five minutes. He is about to crawl in when Paul stops him. He pats his chest.

“No, I can do it,” Patryk says, folding his arms.

Patryk merely slams his chest harder in response. Patryk thinks about refusing him again, but Paul looks so genuinely unhappy that he relents. 

“At least take this,” Patryk says, handing him his flashlight. Paul takes it and crawls into the vent. He rounds two corners and there they are.

“Out,” he grunts. The girl is cradling Tom in her lap and she glares at the source of the noise. “Out… Or we’ll… call back up. Nicer… this way,” Paul grunts. When he sees Laurel start to move he starts to back up, waiting for her to round the corner each time before backing around another one. He gets out of the vent and Laurel comes out soon after. Her lap is wet and her hair looks ratty and tangled, blonde roots are growing in, replacing the paling blue strands. She looks like she’s barely slept the entire time they’ve been missing.

Tom makes it out, and Paul backs away a little, wary even though Tom looks horrific. He is sweaty and pallid, looking like he could throw up at any moment. He gets to his feet and Patryk watches him waver on them. When it looks like he is about to fall Paul moves forward to steady him.

Only to get a fist in the throat as Tom takes off in the opposite direction, tugging Laurel along with him. Paul is on the floor, wheezing, looking for all the world like he just wants to pass out and lie on the dirty prison tiles. Patryk is rubbing his back, urging him to get up, they have to go, they have to chase them.

“Go,” It’s one word. One syllable. But the intensity of it conveys all the meaning Patryk needs. Don’t let this distraction be the one that gets you killed. Patryk takes off at a dead run, leaving Paul struggling to get his breath on the floor.

His feet pound the ground like he only wishes he could pound Tom’s face. Fury is the energy coursing in his every muscle, every bone, and Patryk rounds the corner to catch sight of them, struggling to unlock the door into the next sector. He is gaining on them and by the time they open the door, Laurel only manages to shove Tom through it before Patryk catches up. 

He doesn’t slow his momentum at all. He slams into Laurel, listening to her grunt in pain as he bodily smashes her against the door. A ziptie is out of his pocket and around her wrists, looped around the handle of the door as Patryk slips through it. He is greeted by a T intersection.

He has no clue which way Tom could have gone and Patryk’s stomach is sinking into his lower intestines until Tom marches back around the corner with none other than Yuu pointing a gun to his back.

“You know, your partner’s a real bastard, but I would prefer not to see either of you shot,” Yuu said. 

Patryk manages a smile as he grabs Tom’s hands and zipties them behind his back.

“Yuu, you’ve done me a massive favor today, but can you do me one more?” Patryk says, smiling brightly at the man. Something about those pearly whites makes Yuu shudder a little. Maybe it’s the fact they are accompanied by flared nostrils and eyes so wide the pupils are little brown islands in a sea of white.

“Ah, what would that be?”

“Give me your gun.” Yuu hands it to him. Patryk thanks him and he is gone, tugging a distraught looking Tom through the door with him. Tom throws one last backward glance and Yuu knows he is seeing the face of a dead man.

\-------------

Laurel is escorted by gun point back to her cell. Officially Patryk tells them he is escorting Tom to solitary.

Tom is not going to solitary.

Tom is going to Paul and Patryk’s personal quarters for the time being, and after that, Patryk isn’t quite sure where he is going. Well, eventually to hell.

Tom is currently not breathing either. He is trying. But unfortunately Patryk doesn’t quite feel like letting him at the moment. It’s kind of a want, not a need, as far as he is concerned.

“Listen to me Tom, listen to me very, very closely,” Patryk says softly. A little burble of drool makes it out the side of Tom’s mouth. He has an erection and Patryk is well aware he is trying to grind it on him while he chokes the life out of him. 

Dignity in death is a myth.

Patryk reaches down to rub Tom’s erection, letting off his throat a little. Tom fills his lungs with air as Patryk massages his package, dropping lower to press his palm up against Tom’s cunt. His knees just about buckle at that.

Then Patryk’s hand is at his throat again and Tom is letting out a dry sob.

“No, no, no. That’s not going to get you anywhere,” Patryk purrs. Patryk feels a firm hand on his shoulder. He turns around to look at Paul, who is giving him a disapproving look. Patryk lets go of Tom completely, letting him slump against the wall.

“Fine, fine, you’re right, let’s not torture him any longer. Let’s just take him to Tord,” Patryk says. Tom jolts at the name.

Patryk turns to him, smiling meanly. “Oh you don’t like that do you, you’re afraid of him, huh?”

Patryk is choking him again and Paul is physically pulling him off as he drags Tom up to his feet. They don’t even make it out the door before Tom starts begging.  
“Please don’t take me to him, oh god, please.” Paul can’t tell if its tears or sweat but he’s had it. Tom had his chance at mercy and it was all used up, none to spare.

Patryk bends down looking at Tom as he presses himself against Paul and the act just riles Patryk up further. “Listen to me you rancid little fuck, you don’t fear him. He’s not the one in this base you should fear. You. Fear. Me.”

He is gripping Tom by the chin and Tom squeezes his eyes shut pushing out a fat tear as he lets out a sharp nod.

“Yes sir.”

Patryk knows, even in his state, Tom is trying to find a way to work him, a way to find an easy out. He elects to teach him that the easiest out is not going to be found by disobeying either him or Paul.

“You don’t want to go to Tord right? You sure you don’t want him to take care of you?” Patryk says, coming in closer to Tom, sliding his hand up the inside of his soaked prison pants. Tom wreaks of sweat and desperation.

“No,” Tom says, and Patryk commends him for sounding so firm despite being in the throes of heat.

“You don’t want us to let him have at you? He’d probably bend you across his desk, give you a nice knot and a claiming mark, let you live in comfort instead of a nasty old cell,” Patryk said and he’s rubbing at Tom again and Tom seems to be getting more and more aggravated as he speaks.

“I don’t want that commie shitstain anywhere near me,” Tom spat before moaning as Patryk gave him a particularly nasty squeeze. 

“I don’t see why, you two are perfect for each other. He’s a control freak sadist who would probably whip your little masochistic rule breaker hide into ready shape if you’d let him near you.”

“I won’t,” Tom said, glaring sullenly at his feet.

“Not your choice anymore,” Patryk smiled, running a hand through Tom’s hair, thumbing his cheek tenderly. Tom’s eyes widened as he began to struggle against Paul's grip. Patryk dug his hand into a pressure point on Tom’s shoulder and that had him seizing up and stopping almost immediately.

“Hurts doesn’t it? Almost like, say, getting garroted by a pillowcase, or getting punched in the throat within the same twenty four hours. Let me remind you Tom, you could have made this easy.”

With that they drug the man down the corridor and through the checkpoints require to get to the command sector. Tom just hangs his head and only when they are passing into the final checkpoint does he start to panic.

“Please I will do anything, I never stopped taking my suppressants, I didn’t break the promise, I’m only in heat because I couldn’t take them while in hiding,” Tom pleaded.

“You used our promise as a means to get over on us, don’t think that works as a point in your favor,” Patryk says. And they are there. Tord’s office. Patryk goes to knock.

“Wait, oh please, I swear I will never harm either of you again, I will sit in my cell and- and- and,” Tom gets stuck on the last word like a broken record, genuine terror coursing through his veins and all Patryk does is smile and knock. Tom completely dissolves into tears and Paul shifts him up and tugs him a little closer to his side, as if to comfort him.

Patryk pushes open the door and helps Paul bring in a sobbing Tom, setting him on Tord’s desk, letting him bawl for a bit uninterrupted. Finally Tom cracks open an eye. He’s a mess. Snot all down his face, stains of some form on basically every part of his clothes.

Paul and Patryk are just looking at him arms, folded. Patryk still looking incensed, Paul smiling a little at Tom’s startled little look aimed at them.

“Tord’s out at a meeting. Conference actually. All day affair. He seems to like watching you, so how about we give him a little show,” Patryk says. Tom slumps back onto the desk.

“You going to bring me back after, you won’t just leave me here for him?”

“We’ll think about it,” Patryk says and smirks a little as Tom’s eyes well with tears.

“No. We’ll put you back,” Paul says and both turn to look at him in surprise as he speaks his first full sentence since Tom nearly strangled him. Patryk huffs and mutters something to Paul before the two approach Tom. 

Paul takes off Tom’s prison shirt while Patryk pulls off his pants, wrinkling his nose as the smell in the room only gets worse. Slick smears all over his desk.

“I don’t think Tord will like this,” Tom says in a small voice.

“Tord will probably sniff the desk for weeks after he watches the video,” Patryk snorts.

Paul gives him a look.

“What, the cctv has no audio I checked with IT,” Patryk shrugged as he spread Tom’s legs. He tsked. “He’s got a rash from running around in wet pants all morning, Paul can you go get some cream,” Patryk asked, smiling sweetly. Paul nodded and left.

It took him a little bit to find some, he first tried heading to his and Pat’s personal quarters as it was closer than the med bay, but eventually gave up and just went there. When he returned he was startled to see Tom with several raised scratch and bite marks all over his body, hands still secured behind his back as he lay on his belly while Patryk was working a very large ridged dildo into his ass.

Tom had a defeated slump to his shoulders as Patryk gave the dildo a rough shove adding another claw mark to several on his back. Tom just whimpered and bucked his hips a little. Paul caught sight of the cock ring hugging the base of his dick. He rolled his eyes. He knew Patryk was like this, he didn’t know why he ever thought it was a good idea to leave him alone with Tom while he was this level of pissed off.

Gently he handed the cream to Patryk and nudged him aside a little. Only to be even more concerned and annoyed to find Tom’s cunt had had its fair share of action as well, it looked puffy and there was the end of some sort of toy sticking out. How long had he been gone? Like twenty minutes? Certainly no more than thirty.  
Paul pulled out the toys, ignoring the whines that he wasn’t sure were grateful or annoyed. He went to remove the ring and Patryk stopped him.

“You’re spoiling him. He needs to learn a lesson,” Patryk said, glaring at Tom. Paul noticed the handprints all over his ass. He shook his head, gesturing to the marks all over Tom.

Patryk smiled innocently, “It was an accident and he seemed to enjoy it anyways.”

Paul flipped Tom over and pulled off the ring, then started to stroke him off, turning back to Patryk. “You are making this worse,” he whispered.

“Maybe he deserves to have it a little worse at the moment,” Patryk snapped. “We were kind to him, we could have just had Tord deal with this and it would have been fine. When we catered to his preference he stabbed us in the back.”

Paul sighs and glances back as he sees Tom cum across his stomach with a small cry. He lays back panting and Paul turns to look at Patryk.

“I can’t, he’s just-,” Paul starts.

“I know, and he does too. I know how to work people and I know he knows how too, you cannot let him get under your skin like this. Maybe it’s better to have him away from Tord, he would have him wrapped around his finger, no doubt,” Patryk says, looking at Tom who is quickly recovering from his orgasm and is trying to worm his way off his back. And manages only to fall off the desk with a thump.

Both men pull him up off the floor.

“Let’s just set him on the chair, I’m sure Tord’s little fetish will get a kick out of that,” Patryk sighs. They put him on Tord’s nice leather chair. Tom just sinks into it and starts trying to slump down on the floor again.

Paul stops him, pulling him up and spreading his legs.

“Please f-f-fuck, I gotta,” Tom slurs and then stares off into space for a moment before snapping back, “I want a knot, alpha,” he groans.

“I don’t think I have ever heard him say “alpha”, must be Tord’s scent,” Patryk says as he watches Tom turn on his side to rut against the chair. He rubs the tip of his cock on the arm before getting frustrated again and looking over at Paul and Patryk. Paul undoes his pants and lifts Tom up, sliding himself underneath him, he is lining himself up with Tom’s cunt when Patryk stops him.

“Move to the floor, it will make this easier, also go backdoor,” Patryk says and Paul obeys. Patryk moves over on top of Tom and pushes in to his cunt as Paul pushes in from behind. Tom starts to writhe away from the two of them as he feels the stretch at either end.

“Huh, hu- feels weird,” he mutters. Patryk just shifts further in. Both of them settle all the way in and Tom is left sweating between them, adjusting to the feeling. Paul starts to move slowly pulling in and out. Patryk waits, watching Tom’s reactions. At first he looks uncomfortable, face pinching up each time Paul pushed in. Slowly however, the discomfort faded off his face as he began to rock to meet Paul’s pace.

That was Patryk’s cue. He starts thrust into Tom and that look of pleasure is gone as Patryk just fucks into him, hard and rough and he is scratching at Tom again, pinching his nipples as Paul just continues the slow steady pace, running soothing hands down either side of Tom’s body.

He’s essentially getting the good cop bad cop treatment from either end and it’s confusing the hell out of him. He wants to shrink back from Patryk and closer to Paul but at the same time he can’t deny the sparks those nasty scratches are sending to his dick which occasionally gets a rough tug or a hand thumbing at the head or under it.

Tom is cumming again but no one shows signs of stopping, even when he is basically acting the part of limp noodle between the two of them. The weight of the last day hits him, sleeping in the vent with Laurel trying to stave off his heat and keep him quiet, not eating for, got maybe two, three days in advance, in the hopes that his heat would be delayed because of bodily stress.

Tom’s at his limit.

Patryk is trying to stroke him up again and Tom remembers he remembers it oh thank god.

“Pineapple,” he says it like it is supposed to mean something to them. It doesn’t. Patryk keeps going and Paul keeps fucking him from behind and neither pay the delirious omega shouting fruit names much attention. Tom repeats it. Then again. And again. Again.

Paul finally notes the rising panic in Tom’s voice and he stops his motion. Tom pauses his saying it for a moment, but as Patryk continues to jerk him off he starts to repeat it again, looking at Patryk in confusion and distress.

“We’ll get you something to eat after you get to solitary,” Patryk mutters. Paul puts his hand on his wrist, pulling him away from Tom.

“Safeword,” Paul says. 

Patryk’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks at the omega under him who has closed his eyes in relief.

“Ugh Tom I am so sor-,” Patryk stops himself as he realizes what he is about to say. They are always going to end up like this. In his grip even when he isn’t purposefully working them over.

“We are taking him to solitary now,” Patryk says. Paul looks up at him, a bit surprised at the adamant tone. He obeys nonetheless. They pick up Tom, head lolling as he naps while they carry him out of Tord’s office. They get him to the prison sector and ignore the wolf whistles as they bring him to the prison showers. He doesn’t even wake up when they rinse him off.

He’s shoved into a clean set of clothes and dumped in a solitary cell and Pat goes back to the showers to rinse his hands of the whole ordeal.

Yeah. Right.

Late at night while Tord is doing what the little sticky note on his desk told him to do and reviewing the cctv tape, Patryk and Paul are laying in the same bed, with the same thoughts about a very insidious, very alone man in a cell that is all too accessible to men of weak will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol it's overrrr. Bug me over @ plsnskanks.tumblr.com


End file.
